


On the Steps of the Palace

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Everybody Lives, Fluff, M/M, Masks, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Slow Dancing, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This was such a terrible idea. The worst kind. The kind where there wasn’t so much an idea at all, just an instinct that Peter followed to its inevitable end because that’s what you do when all your senses are dialed to eleven.In this case, the instinct had led him to sneak into the Stark Industries annual Mardi Gras masquerade blow-out even though Mr. Stark had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not invited.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 219





	On the Steps of the Palace

_He's a very smart Prince._  
_He's a Prince who prepares._  
_Knowing this time I'd run from him_  
_He spread pitch on the stairs._  
_I was caught unawares._  
_And I thought: well, he cares._

_\- On the Steps of the Palace, Stephen Sondheim_

Heart hammering, Peter slumps back against the silver interior of the elevator. This was such a terrible idea. The worst kind. The kind where there wasn’t so much an idea at all, just an instinct that Peter followed to its inevitable end because that’s what you do when all your senses are dialed to eleven.

In this case, the instinct had led him to sneak into the Stark Industries annual Mardi Gras masquerade blow-out even though Mr. Stark had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not invited.

“This is a party for the big boys and girls, kid,” Tony had said in the lab a few weeks ago, after Pepper had come down to finalize details. “Really not your speed, is it?”

Like always, he completely ignores the fact that Peter is one of the big boys now. He’s twenty-one. He’s going to graduate from Columbia in a few short months. He’s got job offers from every major biomedical research and development group in the country, including a very generous package waiting for his ok from SI. And he’s been a full-fledged Avenger for almost five years now.

But none of that matters to Mr. Stark. And maybe Peter wouldn’t care about the teasing, the fatherly shoulder pats, the calling him _kid_ all the time if he weren’t so desperate for some very _very_ grown up attention from the man.

That. That desperation is what had led him to put on a fancy suit and a mask – something gaudy with feathers and glitter that covers half his face – have at least one too many drinks, and flirt audaciously with Tony Stark. It all would have been embarrassing, but not exactly out of the norm for one of Peter’s terrible ideas. Except that Tony had flirted back.

Maskless, in the middle of a crowded ballroom of people on the upper levels of Stark Tower, Tony had let his eyes travel up Peter’s body like a caress. The smile that spread across his face – slow, and warm, and teasing – had set something wriggling in Peter’s gut.

He’d tossed back the remnants of his drink, handed the glass off to a passing waiter, and leaned in close, hand low on Peter’s back.

“How about a dance, sweetheart?” Tony had asked, voice low and smoky in Peter’s ear, his breath a warm puff of whiskey against his neck.

“Yes, please,” Peter had practically squeaked back, and he got to watch close-up as Tony’s smile grew wider, breaking across his face so brightly that it was almost blinding.

He’d pulled Peter into a slow dance, hands wrapped around his waist beneath his jacket, thumb gliding up and down the arch of his spine. Peter hadn’t had the wherewithal to do anything but fling his arms around Tony’s neck and let himself be led along in the dance, floating along to the beat of the song.

They must have talked about something, but Peter can’t remember what. It’s a blur now, dreamlike. One minute they were dancing, Tony deftly maneuvering them into a dark corner, and the next Peter was leaning in to catch Tony’s lips in a kiss.

The man’s mouth had pressed hot against Peter’s and then smeared down along his jaw, ripping a quiet moan from his chest and jostling his mask.

Peter’s pulse had quickened at the thought of exposure, but his alarm wasn’t enough to stop him from reclaiming Tony’s mouth, licking inside insistently when he met no resistance. They’d only been pulled apart when someone wolf whistled, and Peter’s face went red hot with embarrassment.

“Think I should let you cool down a little, yeah?” Tony had asked, tucking his smirk into Peter’s hairline, close to his ear.

“A drink, maybe?” Peter managed, voice almost steady.

“I’ll be right back.”

Peter had watched him go with longing clawing up his throat, waiting until the crowd had swallowed him up, and then made a break for the exit.

It will have to be enough, Peter thinks as the elevator sinks down toward the ground floor. A dance, a kiss. It’s far more than he expected from the evening. It was far as he was going to get wearing his ridiculous carnival mask, and much further than he would have gotten without it.

God, if Tony found out who he’d been kissing, it would ruin everything. Peter can see it now, the way the guilt would twist his expression into something hollow and sad, the way he’d shy away from their playful interactions in the lab, always just on the safe side of flirting. They’d never be able to work together again. Not like before.

It’s good he left when he did. The only option, really. And nothing that happened tonight changes anything. Peter’s still in possession of an unrequited crush on a man he can’t have. It’s just that now he has a better, more painful idea of what he’s missing.

He slides a little further down the wall, shoulders nearly up to his ears now, and contemplates the torture of seeing Tony in the lab tomorrow. The pity party, however, doesn’t last long.

The elevator screeches and jolts to sudden stop, and only the sticky pads of Peter’s fingers stop him from falling face-first onto the tiled floor.

“What the fuck, Fri?” Peter curses as he straightens, and starts to look around for a reason behind the sudden stop.

There’s no reply from the tower’s AI, just the eerie, echo-y silence of a dead elevator. He punches the door open button, and then the emergency call button to no avail. Peter’s contemplating tearing open one of the ceiling tiles and crawling out that way when the elevator doors slide open with a cheery ding.

“Oh thank god,” Peter says. “I can’t go crawling around in elevator shafts right now. This suit is a rental.”

He’s about to put it down to a weird technical glitch, and take the stairs the rest of the way down. Before he can, though, Tony steps inside. The doors slide smoothly closed behind him, and he pats the button panel affectionately.

“Good work, baby girl,” he says, and then directs his attention to Peter, tilting his head to the side.

“You,” he accuses. “Were sneaking out without even saying goodbye.”

Peter swallows around a thick lump in his throat.

“Trust me when I say it’s better this way,” he says.

“I don’t even merit digits?” Tony counters. “Doesn’t even have to be all ten. I have a way of figuring things out, and I feel like that kiss rated at least a hint.”

He takes one step forward, and Peter takes one back.

“You don’t want that,” Peter protests, cursing his own stupidity for coming here.

His words don’t seem to be sinking in, though, because Tony keeps moving forward until he has Peter backed up against the metal wall, their bodies only inches apart.

“Alternately,” Tony says, voice low and just the right side of threatening. “You could take off that lovely mask and let me see you, sweetheart.”

Peter clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

“No?” Tony asks with an arch of his eyebrow. “Well that’s disappointing. I had kind of hoped you’d gotten over the shy stage. Quick question, then. Of the rhetorical variety.”

He pulls his hands out of his pockets and flicks a button on his watch. A hologram lights up the air between them, a fuzzy little image from an old YouTube clip, Spider-Man catching an out-of-control bus.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes flick up to Tony’s, wide and alarmed.

“That’s you, right?” Tony asks, letting his hand catch the end of Peter’s tie and wrap it around his fist once, twice, drawing him closer and closer.

“You knew?” Peter breathes out, still half-choked on the weight of the revelation.

“You didn’t even try to disguise your voice, kid,” he replies, voice light with unreleased laughter. “Plus I have made a very intensive study of that jawline.”

He brings one callused finger up to run along Peter’s jaw in demonstration.

“I want to do indecent things to it.”

“But … I don’t … What?” Peter says very eloquently.

“Have I not made my intentions clear?” Tony asks, voice just on the edge of whining. “The flirting. The touching. The practically throwing myself at your feet. I know it’s not exactly kosher for me to come on to you, authority figure and all, but if you made the first move …”

Peter’s eyes go wide as the past year of interactions with Tony finally start to slot into place.

“Oh …”

“Yeah,” Tony nods, tugging on Peter’s tie so that he nods along with him. “Christ, Pete, I’ve been waiting for you to take the hint for months. Then after you finally do you run away? Hardly seems fair.”

Taking a fortifying breath, Peter reaches up to push the mask off his face, letting it fall to the floor.

“It isn’t fair,” he says, grateful when his voice doesn’t waver. “What can I do to make it up to you, sir?”

“Oh, Spiderling,” Tony whispers. “I can think of just so many things.”

“It’s Spider-Man,” Peter replies, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face as he leans in close enough that he can feel Tony’s breath ghost across his lips.

“Fuck, yeah, it is,” Tony says, bridging that final gap.

The elevator rumbles to life, and they’re jostled closer together as it trundles upward this time.

The next time the door dings and slides open, Tony pulls Peter out and into his penthouse apartment, lips still moving insistently together. They stumble through the foyer together and into the living room, falling in a tangle of limbs onto the couch when one of them bumps against it. Peter winds up looming over Tony, braced on his forearms. The feel of their bodies pressed together is warm and intoxicating.

“All up to you now, kid,” Tony croons, looking up into Peter’s unobstructed face, and pushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “What’s your move?”

Well, Peter knows how to follow his instincts.


End file.
